


there is this

by nigiyakapepper



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BOM's not dead, Canon Compliant, Courtship, Cultural Differences, M/M, Marriage, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:11:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigiyakapepper/pseuds/nigiyakapepper
Summary: Save the date! Snapshots of how Keith and Shiro prepare for their wedding from one month away to the "I do."





	there is this

**Author's Note:**

> For Ruka over at the VLD Creators Discord Flash Exchange! i hope i delivered. you had fluff and this...might have ran away from me ^^;

\- **_One Month Before_** -

“You have to slay an yllzzig, and bring it back for feasting with your families,” says Antok, swinging his tankard and sloshing his drink around.

“Stop jesting. That was your grandfather’s time. Yllzzig have gone extinct along with Daibazaal,” says Ulaz, popping a piece of what looks like a baked cross between a snail and an oyster into his mouth – a specialty of the bar (Keith’s calling it a bar) they’ve crashed after a long day’s work.

“My brother and his partner took their turns carrying each other across hot coals,” says Thace thoughtfully.

“A tradition of the north, if my memory is correct,” says Kolivan, taking a drink from his own tankard. “The south threw the family weapon in front of the house of their partner’s parents as a sign of their intent.”

“Or of challenge,” says Ulaz.

Kolivan smirks. “Depends on the tribe.”

Ilun and Vrek, born when the Galra were already a star-faring race and initiated early into the life of a Blade, share puzzled looks. Keith distinctly feels like he’s sitting at that table at parties where all the uncles are drinking and shooting the shit, even if he’s never been to any sort of family parties in his life. He isn’t sure he’s ever going to be old enough to drink whatever is in the older Blades’ tankards and settles for refilling his own with what he’s pretty sure is berry juice.

It still burns its way down his throat.

“Don’t you kidnap the nuptials, drop them in the middle of nowhere and see if they make it back to the village?” asks Regris.

Ulaz chuckles lowly. “That’s more on the Kamaran side of your heritage than Galra.”

“I don’t think,” Keith starts, coughing a bit. “That Shiro’s gonna need…any roasted bears or weapons. It’s just going to be him and his grandparents they’re flying in from Japan. By plane, because the Lions are more terrifying apparently.”

“No other relations?” Thace asks.

“No other relations. His parents are…” Keith frowns. “Disgraced. We won’t be able to find them even if we wanted to.”

The Blades nod, as Keith is grateful their culture is familiar enough with the concept to take it in stride.

“Even if the purposes of these practices have lost their practicality, it is tradition,” Kolivan says solemnly. “The Galra are fond of and expected to do grand gestures during marriage, since among our celebrations, it is the few that don’t glorify war.”

Determination drops into Keith’s chest, and he downs his acidic berry juice in one go. “I’ll find something that’ll be important for both of us,” he promises, and the Blades of Marmora look at him with dadly pride, before uproariously toasting and ruffling his head.

\- -

“You want to know why I’ve told you to grow out your hair?” Krolia asks him the next day, as he watches her pack relief supplies while he sits on a crate, nursing a hangover.

“When we got engaged a year and a half ago, yeah.”

“It is customary for the husband to do his wife’s wedding braid,” she says. “A complicated style he learns from his father who learned it from his father and so on. It used to be that you’re never allowed to remove it, but more recent tradition isn’t as strict. You wear it on your wedding day and take it off afterwards.”

The part of Keith’s brain that isn’t fighting off the effects of acidic berries latches on to one thing. “The wife?”

“In Galran, the one who bears child.”

A beat. “…am I?” Keith asks, wide-eyed, bracing himself to be told his genetics enables to him get pregnant. At this point, anything is possible.

Krolia stares at him, then snorts, and Keith knows he’s being teased. “Like I said, it’s not so strict these days. Both partners may choose to do each other’s braids, and remove them. Or forgo the practice altogether. I haven’t met many people who’ve had time for weddings.”

Keith sits up at her tone, remembering something he’s seen. “Then Kolivan…”

She smiles a little sadly. “His partner died in combat.”

“And you?”

Krolia brings the lengthy part of her hair to drape over one shoulder. “It crossed my mind, when I was with your father. I knew I was never going to get married, but I like to keep it long.”

 _For him_ goes unsaid but Keith understands. They share a quiet moment, before Zethrid and Ezor walk into the room, carrying crates of more supplies to re-pack.

“My great aunt wove a funeral shroud for her trousseau,” Zethrid says, setting down her load with a grateful groan.

“Isn’t that a little morbid?” deadpans Ezor.

Zethrid shrugs. “Don’t you have Galra family? She said it’s pretty normal ‘cause people can die at any time.”

“Estranged,” Ezor scoffs. “You can’t make me go to a reunion even if you paid me and dad a million GAC. But when my Academy girlfriends got married, we got together and bought the most expensive shit from Raulern’s? I dunno if that helps…”

Keith has to bark a laugh at that because he’s _been_ to Raulern’s on a liquor-related errand. According to Coran, it’s been the best port for space alcohol this side of the universe for as long as he can remember.

They leave the room chatting, leaving Keith and Krolia by themselves again.

“Can…d’you know anyone who can teach Shiro?”

Krolia looks up at him, expression questioning.

“To braid my hair.”

She breaks into a warm smile and says, “I’m sure Kolivan would be honored.”

 

 

 

\- **_Three Weeks Before_** -

“Hunk, my dude, my bro, my platonic life partner, the piña to my colada, I love you but if you make us taste test anything more I’m not going to fit into my suit,” says Lance, slumped over the dining table of his family’s kitchen that Hunk has been commandeering for a couple of days, having been tasked to create the catering menu.

“It’s gotta be perfect, Lance,” Hunk whines. “I’ve never been this stressed out cooking before. Cooking’s not supposed to stress me out! It’s supposed to be the opposite!”

“Have you aired your grievances to the management?” Lance’s voice is muffled from smooshing his face into the wood.

Hunk gives a little sigh, then frowns and says, “Y’know I should’ve known when they said I could go all out that they were actually just leaving all the work to me.”

Lance looks up and smiles. “You enjoy that anyway, stress and all. Besides, those two will eat anything. Remember the time Shiro bought a Kraft mac and cheese dinner cup, microwaved it wrong then cried while eating it anyway?”

Hunk shuddered. “To be fair, he hadn’t eaten mac and cheese in like …three years. I’d cry too. Probably.”

They both stare at the spread on the table and fresh ingredients on the terra cotta-tiled counters. Lance has seen many a gigantic family feast lovingly, chaotically crafted upon these surfaces. To think the wedding of their closest friends would pass through these walls fills him with a gentle sort of warmth, of a quiet disbelief that after all they’ve been through, they get peaceful days like this.

“Whatever you make, people are gonna love it. Keith and Shiro are gonna love it. It’s a wedding feast people are gonna talk about for generations to come.”

Hunk smiles a proud little smile. “I know.” A beat. “Can you please call your neighbors again, I’d hate for this to go to waste.”

Lance laughs, already pulling out his phone.

 

 

 

\- **_Two Weeks Before_** -

“Mom’s going to cry.”

“Good cry or bad cry? Are you good crying or bad crying right now?”

“Good crying,” Keith laughs and sniffs, scrubbing at his face with his arm before accepting Pidge’s crushing hug. “And Krolia’s gonna good cry too.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be prepared to see that.”

They pull apart to look at Keith’s fully renovated childhood home, outfitted with all the latest modern conveniences as well as enough manicured, sustainable garden space to hold the ceremonies. It looks exactly as he remembers – two stories, complete with a sturdy ironwood tree with a tire swing – and more. There’s a gorgeous sunroom that opens out into the yard, a library, a couple more guestrooms than he and Shiro strictly need, a huge master bedroom, and the shed.

Keith just _knows_ he’s going to spend hours in that shed. It’s been turned into a full-blown workshop complete with so much tech that he and Shiro could probably build a hover bike from scratch. Right beside it is a greenhouse, and while it’s not exactly big enough for them to start selling their harvest, it’s more than enough for them not to need to fly out to the city for produce.

Keith’s heart thumps at the sight of Sam and Coleen Holt emerging from the front door in work clothes, having finished some last-minute touches. He’s more than grateful they initiate the hug, which by short of clinging to them he hopes conveys his gratitude. Pidge’s shriek of laughter in the distance as she plays with Cosmo echoes in the open desert.

“Keith,” says Colleen, bracing and warm. “How was the flight?”

“Good, nothing much. Matt says hi.”

“Did you tell him if Katie didn’t have Green to fetch him with, I’ll personally warp there to smack him if he misses your wedding?” she asks sweetly.

Keith laughs. “No smacking, please. He’s gonna come in with Captain Olia’s crew. Shiro’s gonna come in with the Blades.”

“You boys are so busy,” she sighs.

“There’s a lot of work left to be done, but we want to finish it in time.”

“You’d better.”

Keith turns to Sam, eyes bright. “I can’t thank you enough for the house. It’s…it’s beautiful. Just, thank you so much.”

“It was our pleasure, Keith,” Sam says, as warm as his wife. “With all you boys have done for us, this is the least we could give back.”

“Dad would be,” his breath hitches, and he blinks back more tears burning behind his eyes. “Dad would be really happy too.”

\- -

Later that week, Shiro, Krolia and the other Blade members touch down on Earth. Just as Keith predicted, his mother – well, she doesn’t exactly cry, but she hides her face in her hands, calms her shaking for about a minute before going inside to explore every inch.

The Blades fly themselves to Varadero to stay at the hotel and resort owned by Lance’s family (where the reception is going to be held, as there’s room for more people to party and stay as opposed to a small desert shack) and enjoy the beach.

 A couple of days after, the three of them (and Cosmo) visit Keith’s father’s grave. Shiro brings some items to clean the headstone and the space around it with. They plant bright flowers they’ve discovered on an arid planet on the Dalterian belt that survive on little moisture, lots of UV and give off the faint scent of old books. They light a solar lantern and Shiro lays out an offering of picnic sandwiches, which they’ll eat before they leave. The whole practice is unfamiliar to Keith, but one Shiro has said his grandparents did and considered important, even if there were times they couldn’t return to Japan to pay respects to their dead in person.

Krolia has a moment with Keith’s father first, Cosmo smooshed patiently at her side. They return with two out of the four offered sandwiches in their mouths and Shiro laughs before they take a moment of their own.

“Hey dad,” Keith says, voice a little scratchy, but he’s smiling as he holds Shiro’s hand. “We’re back from a relief mission. And…and…”

Shiro squeezes him.

“We’re getting married in two weeks,” Keith says softly. “Everyone’s coming over. Krolia, the Blades, Matt and some of the rebels—”

“—because they wouldn’t miss a party,” Shiro adds with a grin.

“Because they wouldn’t miss a party. Lance’s family, Hunk’s family. Allura, Romelle, Coran. Pidge’s family—man, I wish you could see what they’ve done with the house. You’d have loved it.”

He ducks his head, flushed and shy, before saying, “I’m happy, dad.” He looks at Shiro and smiles again. “I’m really, really happy.”

 

 

 

\- **_One Week Before_** -

 _Everyone_ has to have a say in their wedding vows and Shiro can see that Keith’s getting annoyed.  


On Monday, both of them, the Blades and Shiro’s tiny grandparents are huddled around their freshly renovated dining table deciding which tradition to follow. Ulaz had proposed the Nyanzvi Yekare, the song of an old astronomer to his pupil, two lines of which are the ones known in modern Garla vows.

“ _Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light_

 _I have loved the stars too truly, to be fearful of the night_.” Kolivan recites, eyes closed.

“All of it?” asks Ilun. “The whole thing isn’t very romantic. The astronomer bids the pupil goodbye.”

“You could use the Laag Zukru,” says Thace.

“Bless you,” says Keith and Shiro smacks his shoulder.

“Sorry, the what?”

“ _Song and Sugar and Fire_ ,” Krolia translates. “Or the Kings’ Vows. It’s a call and response type of poem describing what you pledge to each other.”

“I’ve heard of them,” says Regris, in a rarely seen excited rush. “They are very beautiful vows.”

Antok and Thace begin reciting the lines in Galran, causing their fellow Blade to make a noise Keith has never heard before and he pushes their box of tissues toward their end of the table in case anyone starts crying.

Shiro is staring at the happenings with raised eyebrows, before looking at Keith, whose shrug simply says _yes they do get like this_. Krolia delicately extracts herself from increasingly weepy uncles to buy some take out in town (“It’s hardly changed. I’ll still know my way around.”)

“What were the vows like for your wedding, baa-chan?” Shiro asks.

Shiro’s grandmother affectionately places a wrinkly hand on his bicep and Keith briefly thinks _mood_ before tuning in to what she says.

“Nothing special,” she exchanges a look with her husband that says their day was anything but nothing special. “We were sworn in to marriage by a priest.”

“We did a procession to the temple. The priest purified us and announced our marriage to the god,” says Shiro’s grandfather. “We only had to say ‘I do.’”

“Oh, we did the _san-san-kudo_ ,” she says.

“What’s that,” asks Keith.

“The bride and groom exchange …how do you say it, nuptial cups? Not cups but _sakazuiki_ ,” Shiro’s grandfather makes a shallow curve with his hand. “You exchange nuptial cups three times and take three sips from all three cups of sake that was put in front of the god.”

“Why three?” Keith follows up and Shiro nods in agreement to the question. At this point, the Blades are listening to them too.

The tiny couple looks to each other for explanation help again before the grandmother speaks. “There are many different meanings, but the one I was told was that three cannot be divided into two, ensuring a strong union.”

Antok nods approvingly but Keith is sure he’s happy with any ceremony involving liquor.

“After that,” continues Shiro’s grandfather. “We read our vows. They sound the same as vows in an English wedding.”

Shiro looks at Keith, nodding some more. All of them are wonderful traditions, but it still doesn’t help them decide which one to go with. Shiro’s partial to spoken vows, while Keith is fine with whatever. Neither of them is good with words, but they both want it special.

Shiro’s grandfather gently pats both their hands and says, “You two should make your vows your own. It carries greater meaning.”  


Shiro smiles. “Thanks, jii-chan.”

On Tuesday, they’re in Varadero, finally _finally_ doing their own taste test of Hunk’s creations declaring every single of one of them a delicious masterpiece.

“Oh, what?” Lance is saying while they wash the dishes. “Don’t you want to write them yourself? Like ‘I promise you patience, understanding, and communication, and not leaving dirty socks on the floor’ and all that?”

“Or a poem to read to each other out loud,” says Hunk while expertly packing leftovers for Shiro and Keith (or honestly, anyone who wanders into the McClain house) to take home. “Like a Pablo Neruda. Sonnet 17. ‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where—’”

“‘—I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride’,” Lance continues. “‘ _Así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera’_ —okay, yeah nope. Don’t use that, I’m using that for our wedding.”

Shiro is staring at them awed while Keith says, “How d’you know Allura won’t want Altean vows?”

Lance shrugs. “We’re doing both because we want two weddings.”

“Dancing,” says Hunk emphatically. (“—YES,” Lance seconds.) “You gotta have tons of dancing. I’ve seen my aunts and uncles pin paper money—”

“Real money,” Lance interjects.

“—to my brother and his wife’s wedding dress for like, prosperity.”

“That’s for the reception, though,” says Pidge, coming in with her laptop and yoinking a deviled egg that hasn’t been smushed into a tupperware. “I haven’t heard of any weddings that dance as their vows. Conventional ones anyway,” she adds quickly, and plops her equipment on the freed dining space.

“Are you sure you want me in charge of music, and Matt as your emcee?”

Shiro laughs. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Just don’t put anything…weird?”

“Define weird,” Keith and Pidge say at the same time.

“Meme-y? Aliens are going to be there…”

“Maybe it’s the best time to tell them about memes,” says Lance.

“First dance will be,” Pidge says while typing with a little flourish. “Big…and Rich…Party…like Cowboyz with a z—“

“Oh my god, I hate you,” says Keith while Lance and Hunk break into uproarious laughter and Shiro is out of the loop.

“What? What? I don’t get it.”

They take a couple of minutes watching the music video, then another couple watching the one with the mechanical bull rider. Keith resurfaces from Pidge’s laptop red in the face. Shiro stares at him.

“Are you into that?” he asks, and Keith groans into his hands while their friends collapse in wheezing guffaws.

On Wednesday, they’re still in Varadero, but at the fanciest suite of the McClain’s resort hotel indefinitely reserved for the Altean royal guests.

Allura is out diving with Lance along with other early guests. The Blades are discovering jet skis and it’s a crazy morning Shiro and Keith want no part of, as amused as they are. Coran sits with them at the little breakfast table with some loose sheets of notebook paper, fresh cups of coffee and a bread basket from room service.

“Alteans love telling stories,” he says. “You say your vows as if you were telling the story of how you met and fell in love. But more than saying the time or place or what happened, it’s more of um…” His gestures to find the words he’s looking for involve both arms. “It’s more of saying what each moment meant, and how it led to you falling in love.”

Shiro exchanges a look with Keith. “That sounds…that sounds incredible.”

“And difficult,” Keith admits. “The last time I wrote poetry was middle school and I got a D for it.” He smiles when Shiro lets out a little laugh.

“It is,” Coran says. “But well, you aren’t Altean. I don’t see any obligations to keep to the traditional Frolippian pentameter and classic Thevean rhyme scheme! Just …be honest. It’ll come.”

Keith says he’d like some Galran vows included, especially after learning translations from his mother. Shiro asks Coran if mixing is going to offend any cultures, and the man shrugs, ensuring nothing of the sort. “If you’d rather not use the original poem, you can create your own call and response.”

It takes the entire morning, with patient, gentle coaching from Coran. Allura comes in with lunch, sees what they’re busy with and gasps with delight. When Lance tries to take a peek from behind her shoulder, she pulls him with her out the room (but not before leaving the lunch tray behind).

Then it takes the entire afternoon too.

By the time the suite is gilded gold with the light of the setting sun, all three of them are tired, and Shiro feels just about as scrubbed raw as Keith looks. But their vows are finished and Coran looks teary-eyed reading them.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, giving both of them a hug.

“I can’t thank you enough for all your help, Coran,” Shiro says.

“Nonsense,” he replies. “You boys did all the work yourselves. Now come along. We’ve got a well-deserved plate of churros waiting for us downstairs!”

 

 

 

\- **_The Night Before_** -

“Did the storage company call?” Keith asks, coming into the library after Krolia had gotten off the phone. Shiro’s taken his parents out to town for dinner and it’s just both of them and Cosmo at home.

She nods, but there’s something to her expression Keith can’t quite read – bittersweet, but with amped up amounts of both bitter and sweet.

“They’re sending your father’s things a few days from now. What they couldn’t fit in one moving truck came ahead.”

Keith looks over her shoulder, only noticing that there’s a lot more boxes in the room than when he’d been there last. On the coffee table, by the squashiest reading couch the Holts had picked out for them, lay a bunch of photo albums.

His jaw drops, and his body moves toward them before his mind can process what’s happening. One of them is open – it’s clear that Krolia’s been through them; Keith belatedly realizes her eyes are red-rimmed like she’s been…oh man.

Staring up at both of them is a picture of Keith and his dad. One of the last ones ever they’ve ever taken – god, Keith doesn’t even remember his father took photos, that photos of both of them exist because his father was fond of the old school SLR. He’s crouched down, hugging a tiny, beaming Keith close to him, cheeks smushed together. Behind them is an incredible view of the Grand Canyon, the red, orange and mauve blending with the lazy fire of a sunset sky.

“We,” Keith’s voice cracks and he swallows. “We went on a camping trip when I was eight. We drove to from here to the Grand Canyon for hours, and stayed for two days. Did camping things.”

They sit together as Keith flips through the album, and sure enough, there are photos of the trip – his dad starting a fire, Keith holding up roasted fish for the camera, Keith squatting beside a turtle, his dad setting up a worn telescope to look at the stars.

Keith’s waiting for the nauseated twist in his gut at recalling all this, but there is none. The memories flow freely, all fond with a hint of melancholy, surprising him because he thought he’d forgotten them. They go down the years, to photos with memories Keith is too young to or just didn’t remember – him playing in dirt, him being put on the tire swing, him being put on the hover bike, him being put elsewhere two year olds probably shouldn’t be put. Him on a high chair with banana mush around his face and in his tiny fists. Him sitting naked in a shallow basin, hair slicked back with shampoo suds. Him learning how to walk. Him nose to nose with a fat lizard on the sun-bleached floorboards of their porch.

Then Krolia turns a page and laughs in surprise, which in turn surprises Keith since he’s never heard her laugh before, but realizes why when he looks.

It’s a picture of Krolia napping on the sofa with baby Keith dozing on her chest, his little face tucked into her neck. The light streaming in through the captured curtains is soft, possibly a late afternoon. Love and fondness bleeds out of the picture, so much so it’s difficult not to keep staring.

“You were an easy child,” she says, voice soft. “You never fussed or cried. My only worry was why it seemed you weren’t growing any bigger.”

Keith snorts and they flip through some more photos, of Krolia sunning with Keith by a cliff, of a slightly blurry selfie of all three of them with the house in the background, of Krolia carrying Keith in a sling down her front, faces lit with the glow of the Blue Lion’s forcefield.

“Are you telling me I could’ve looked through _dad’s storage_ and known about the Blue Lion?”

Krolia’s huff of amusement has the barest nervous edge to it. “Thank the stars for personal photo printers.”

“Keith?” They hear Shiro call from the entrance – they’ve returned from dinner.

“In the study!” Keith calls back.

“Is that what I think it is,” Shiro says, coming in with way too much glee in his voice and Keith pales at having momentarily forgotten all these albums strewn about.

“Shiro…”

His grandparents shuffle in too, cooing at baby photos, and Keith is slightly horrified at Krolia all too enthusiastic at showing his fiancé pictures of him in the bath.

“Oh my god—”

“Shiro…”

“Ooh my god—”

“Don’t give the guys any more dirt on me than they already do.”

Shiro gasps in mock affront. “These baby bums are for my eyes only.”

“Oh, now I wish we brought Takashi’s baby pictures,” says Shiro’s grandmother, and Keith squints.

“Why aren’t you as embarrassed as I thought you’d be.”

“Well, I was a cute baby.”

“I think I have some saved on my phone,” says Shiro’s grandfather and the five of them huddle around a picture of Shiro squatting on the ground, rhinoceros beetle on his palm and a huge smile that’s missing front teeth. And another of him being carried by his grandfather with a backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge.

They exchange stories until Shiro is finally sufficiently embarrassed as well, and all of them call it a night.

“Pidge told me how the bride and groom shouldn’t see each other on their wedding day until they walk down the aisle,” Shiro says, toweling himself off from his shower.

Keith snuggles up to him as he climbs into bed. A moment later, Cosmo materializes on the mattress and curls up in the tangle of their legs. “I’ve heard of that too. But it’s a little weird.”

Shiro hums, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead and laughing when he sees his face has scrunched a little. “I think it’s romantic. D’you want to try it?”

“Dude, have you seen the schedule Hunk and Matt sent us? I don’t think we’ll even have time to pee.”

“I’m sure it’s penciled in there somewhere. ‘Nuptials pee break,’ or something.”  


They snuggle even closer, Keith watching as Shiro scrolls through the photo gallery of his tablet and tells him about dinner. They reach a couple of hours ago where Shiro had carefully taken a photo of Keith’s photos for digital safekeeping. Keith himself has snagged the Grand Canyon one, wondering where he can put it to keep with him at all times.

“Your dad’s really hot.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“You and your mom have the same taste.”

Keith smacks a pillow at Shiro waggling his eyebrows at him. They tousle for a while, with Cosmo having moved to the edge of the master bed silently judging, then settle with Keith wrapped comfortably in Shiro’s embrace.

“Calm before the storm,” Shiro says into his hair and Keith hums, closing his eyes.

“I’m…actually kind of pretty excited,” says Keith, petting Cosmo’s fur.

“Who knew you’re actually a people person who just doesn’t know how to people.”

“And who knew you’re amazing at playing people person but don’t like people at all.”

Shiro snorts. “Contrary to popular belief, being social drains my energy, not feeds it.”

“They’re our friends, though.”

“Mmm, I know. I’m excited for tomorrow too.”

They fall asleep in each other’s arms.

 

 

 

\- **_That Morning_** -

Hunk flies in in Yellow at an absurd hour of the morning, along with other early rising guests. When Shiro greets them and volunteers to help unload the food and drinks Hunk’s brought to keep people entertained while waiting for the ceremony, he’s bodily shoved back into his home and told they were taking care of everything, just follow the schedule taped to the door and be ready when called.

Lance flies in in Red with make-up, dresses, tents, standing tables, chairs and whatever else that’s needed. Allura and Pidge, with Blue and Green between, ferry more guests from Varadero. There’s a lot of people who stayed behind to get the festivities started (or prepare for the reception, if Hunk and Lance’s mom mobilizing the entire family to help out at the kitchen is any indication), which Keith and Shiro were fine with, preferring an intimate ceremony.

It’s gotten a little noisy outside the yard by the time Shiro walks back in their bedroom. He’s charmed by the picture of Cosmo snuggled up to Keith and snaps a photo (joining one of many) and nuzzles his nose into his hair, kissing him awake.

Keith makes a sound that Shiro carefully catalogues to cherish and rolls over. “Mmtime izzit?”

“Eight.”

“Christ.”

“Big day.”

Keith fixes his husband-to-be with a steady indigo gaze, bright with barely contained joy. “Big day.”

They get little privacy afterwards.

Lance bangs on their door, telling them to eat before they take a shower. “You’re _not_ gonna dress up yet though. You’re gonna wear these pre-wedding robes sent from Krell and have some photoshoots.”

“Krell?” Shiro asks, taking the breakfast tray he’d brought to their room. It’s mouthwatering—and heavy, oh boy—pancakes, cheesy scrambled eggs, sausages, crispy bacon and toast with little pots of jam, butter and syrup.

“You remember the Dragon Princess? Well, Dragon Queen now,” Lance says, leaning on the door frame. “She and her people sent a wedding present. I don’t _think_ she meant for it to be wedding clothes but they’re super gorgeous you guys can’t not wear it before the real thing. So eat! And clean up the bedroom, no tossed undies or anything. We’re coming in here to take photos of the braiding.” He shuts the door behind him without further ado.

“Better eat,” Shiro tells Keith, who’s coming out of their bathroom. Cosmo perks up, tail wagging furiously when Keith breaks off half his crispy bacon to share with the wolf.

“All of it?”

“Hunk’s orders. Might not get to eat until the reception.”

“What time is that again?”

“Ten hours from now?”

Breakfast is polished off, showers are taken, the bedroom is tidied. Cosmo makes a ruckus downstairs. When Keith takes a peek out the window as Shiro blow-dries his hair, their yard has mostly transformed into one of those homely, intimate wedding venues Hunk was showing them on Pinterest. People they’ve met in the last few years, some they’ve come to consider as family, some they’ve fought against, some whose lives they saved and some who’ve done them the same, are talking and laughing, eating canapés and drinking champagne.

His heart swells, and he inhales sharply to keep up. Shiro follows his gaze and laughs softly, then presses a kiss to his temple where his skin and hair are still warm from the dryer.

“How are you?” he whispers.

Keith turns to look at him, face soft. “Amazing. You?”

The smile Shiro gives adorably wrinkles his eyes at the corners. “Never better.”

“I hope you two are decent!” calls Matt from the hallway. “Because holy shit, these robes are _gorgeous_.”

There’s a professional videographer (Holt family friend), two professional photographers (Lance and Hunk’s family friends), then Antok, who’d been so fascinated by printable photography that was popular with the rebels that he and Captain Olia reconstructed what’s basically a gamera (Galra camera) for his personal use. It took beautiful portrait and macro shots in natural light.

Cameras click away as Keith and Shiro help each other into dragon-woven robes which, Matt’s right, are gorgeous – designs similar but more intricately embroidered than their lion robes, but light and sturdy. They settle on their bed to begin the Vlezten, or Galran ceremonial braiding. A lot of people pile into their room to watch too.

Keith squirms under so many eyes, and Shiro laughs when he sees his own hands shaking.

“I know I practiced but I’m still nervous.”

There’s a chorus of encouragement from their audience, which breaks the tension considerably. “We’re gonna edit out your goofs!” Matt yells, but there is no need, as Shiro takes a deep breath and begins deftly, steadily braiding Keith’s hair as Kolivan and the Blades had taught him.

Keith’s world narrows down to the gentle rasp of Shiro’s fingers in his hair, the rhythmic, relaxing tugs on his scalp, the gentle fragrance of ceremonial oils wafting from their hair and skin. Around them, the room has fallen silent as the Galra begin singing, a lilting earthy hymn seemingly woven into the fiber of their beings. Their melodies branch off then come together, a symbolic union. It’s calming, nearly hypnotic that Keith startles when Shiro kisses his cheek with a gentle, “All done.”

He looks up at their dresser mirror just as the last of the notes die away, wide-eyed and flushed at Shiro’s handiwork, at the flowers that have been artfully inserted in the strands. “Shiro, it’s…”

The room whoops loudly as they share a kiss – “Save it for the later, guys!” – and are whisked off to separate guest rooms repurposed as dressing rooms for make-up.

…which is thankfully quick, as Keith bristles at his face being poked and prodded at.

“I ain’t gonna judge you bro,” Lance was saying, brush in one hand, Keith’s chin in the other. “D’you exfoliate?”

“No?”

“Unfair.” And he was promptly sprayed with too much setting spray.

A flurry of activities and photoshoots follow. There’s pictures taken of the food, the venue, the flower arrangements, various guests in artful mid-chat, photos of the grooms’ suits, of their iridescent luxite rings. There’s shots of them getting dressed – Keith in an all-black ensemble with a deep red tie and Shiro in all white, with a lilac one as his only splash of color. The contrast is stunning to see in tastefully taken monochrome photos.

After being bundled up in his wedding suit, Keith sits in the dressing room with his mother, who’s being fitted a curious-looking, ceremonial Galra battle armor by Ilun and Vrek (supervised by Thace in a corner and Antok snapping photos).

“You look beautiful, mom,” he says, and while Krolia smirks, there’s a flush to her cheeks.

“It’s feels a little strange to be wearing this when I’ve never worn what comes before it, nor done anything to earn this,” she shrugs a little helplessly. “I never thought I’d be able to wear this in the first place.”

Keith reaches out to squeeze her hand, before letting go so that Kolivan can solemnly place a ceremonial circlet on her head – intricate as the armor but muted in color compare to what would’ve been the bride’s. When she looks up, her eyes are a proud bright nebula.

Shiro, meanwhile, is bemused and more than a little distressed that his grandparents are crying.

“Jii-chan, I haven’t even walked down the aisle yet,” he says, voice wavering at the image of his grandfather hurriedly scrubbing at his face in the hopes of keeping it serious.

“We will be honest with you, Takashi,” says his grandmother, dressed in a gorgeous black tomesode with an intricate patter of colorful paper cranes from the waist down, its meaning not lost to Shiro. His heart twists. “We never dreamed this day could even come.”

“I know,” he says softly.

He has to bend down a little so that she can cradle his face in her hands. “Whatever has happened to you, we are grateful, because it would not have led to this day.”

“I am, too,” he says and holds both of them close for a long while.

 

 

 

\- **_That Noon_** -

What feels like only moments later, Shiro is standing in the garden yard of his house, facing a short carpeted walk to a wisteria-covered arch trellis, making sure his suit is still white and straightening his tie.

“This isn’t quite what you told me about, sir,” Matt teases, dodging when Shiro motions to elbow his side.

“No, it isn’t,” he says anyway. “It’s so much better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

He thinks back to months and months with Commander Holt—Sam, and Matt in their tiny rice rocket, coming to know everything about each other whether they wanted to or not, of Matt’s love for his sister, of how Sam and Colleen met, of Shiro’s dreams, of his illness and his loss just before joining the mission. Of Keith.

“If you’d told me while we were up there that I’d still be Best Man at your wedding, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Shiro laughs, loud and free. “I’m glad we’re all stubborn enough to make it to today, huh.”

“Very,” Matt grins and they exchange a hug, before he jogs to where his father is by the trellis, officiating.

The guests gradually fill the seats, and Shiro’s heart climbs up to his throat in anticipation.

The music begins.

The Blades – namely Kolivan, Ulaz, Thace and Regris – walk down the aisle first, dressed in more formal but still battle-ready regalia. Shiro’s grandmother walks next in her artful tomesode, escorted by a dashing Coran in a traditional black and white three-piece, interrupted by a violently orange blossom pinned by his breast. Hunk and Pidge walk next, in similar suits, except for their respective paladin colors reflected in the large flowers pinned to them. Hunk breaks off to join the Blades as Keith’s Best Man, while Pidge stands by Shiro’s side, where Matt already is as his. Lance and Allura walk next, in black and  white, baby blue and pink. One of Lance’s many nieces (who is terribly fond of Keith) is flower girl and walks next, followed by Cosmo, regally trotting down with the ring basket in their mouth.

Then it’s Shiro, arm and arm with his grandfather who’s doing his very best not to cry again. When they reach the end of the walk, he bends down to be hugged tightly before the man joins his wife in the front row. Shiro bumps fists with his entire entourage and smiles brightly at Keith’s across them, before turning his gaze toward the end of the aisle once more.

Krolia rests her forehead against her son’s, eyes closed, before pressing a kiss to it.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too, mom,” Keith replies.

They walk down the aisle.

All that Keith sees is Shiro, his smile, his eyes, his nose that’s beginning to turn red, and _oh no_ , the ceremony hasn’t even begun. His vision blurs before he’s realizing with a laugh that he’s tearing up as well. All too soon, Krolia unlocks from his arm to hug Shiro tight, and say, “I am grateful it’s you,” before linking their hands together.

Yup, Shiro’s already crying. But so is Keith. And they’re smiling, smiling so much it hurts but they can’t stop.

The music fades. Hunk and Matt step forward, bayard and staff drawn respectively, faces serious. They go through a few stances in sync, a symbolic gesture of the Best Men’s role of protecting their grooms, before they sheath their weapons and relax.

Sam Holt clears his throat.

“From days of long ago, from uncharted regions of the universe comes a legend – the legend of Voltron. A mighty robot, loved by good and feared by evil, or so what’s been passed down from generation to generation.

Whether our stories, of those who know it hasn’t been as simple as good versus evil, will be told with their complexities or not, not all of us would live long enough to know. What I do know,” he says with a grin. “Is that alongside the legend of Voltron, defender of the universe, is another legend, one that’s even more miraculous and compelling. Because if it hadn’t happened, Voltron would not have existed at all.”

He gestures gently to a bashful Shiro and Keith.

“You might have met these two as an unruly cadet and an overachieving senior, or as two of the Garrison’s brightest rising stars, or alone – one living out in the desert, the other a force to be reckoned with by galaxies over. Or you might have met them as paladins.

You’ve seen them work together, grow together and overcome obstacles we can only imagine.” He leans is mock-conspiratorially. “I’ve heard they even overcame death,” then straightens up. “But, of course, I don’t know the whole story. I only know that this is surely one of the greatest love stories ever told. So, boys?”

Sam looks at both of them with the warmest smile and they know it’s time. It’s not nerves, Shiro’s realizing, that’s making him feel like he’s being filled with a bright white light. The vows in his pocket burn. He’s nervous about forgetting what they’ve spent an entire day writing down together, but at the same time it’s seared into the backs of his eyelids.

Keith’s hands are gently trembling in his own, but the lines of his face are soft and gentle. He’s the first to start their vows. When Keith takes a deep breath, Shiro thinks a little wildly, _oh, oh, he’s going to do this without reading_.

“You found me, when I was lost

Alone, untethered and unwanted

You saw me with eyes no one else had

You gave me a second chance and I thought you had wasted it

  


But you showed me your dreams and your hopes

You showed me a place I could belong to

And even if it wasn’t, it was where you were

 

You don’t know the gift you have given

When you held my hand and fought for me

But also told me to believe in myself

I could spend my whole life repaying you

And it wouldn’t be enough”

 

Keith briefly squeezes his eyes shut, before opening them and looking at Shiro. His gaze is liquid and they both know they’re remembering the same things. It’s Shiro’s turn to speak.

 

“You found me, at my darkest hours

The first of countless, even darker ones beyond my imagination

You saw through the pain, you saw through the walls

You stood beside me, took my hand and ran with me

You were my rock when the one under me had long since crumbled

You believed in me, when I didn’t believe in myself

 

When my world was upended

When my body was dragged through hell

You were the one I wanted to come back to

You were the one waiting when I did

 

When I felt broken, unstable, and afraid

You were with me, and held me whole

When I lost my mind

You grounded me, and knew me more than I did myself”

 

 _They’re just words_ , Keith had groaned out that afternoon, flopping on their pile of papers and scratched out drafts. Shiro had hummed and told him to write everything down anyway. And now that Keith is hearing their vows out loud, his heartbeat catches in his throat. He feels so full he’s not sure he can contain it. His palms sweat and he swallows. Shiro’s eyes on him are wet and bright, and his thumbs run soothingly over his wrists. The call and response is next.

“I come to you in grief,” says Keith. “With my wounds and my memories.”

“I offer you my own,” says Shiro. “So we may heal together.”

“I come to you in peace, the valleys of my heart well-watered.”

“I walk with you in fields so we may share its bounty.”    

“I come to you in loss, with fear that drives me to climb the mountain blind.”

“I meet you halfway in trust that you will always find me.”

“I come to you in devotion, my life ready to be laid down.”

“I catch your fall among the stars as many times as it takes.”

“I,” Keith’s voice cracks and he tries again. “I come to you in death and wait with love and endless patience.”

“I take your soul to rise with me in perfect light.”

There’s a lot of people crying in the front row now. Over Keith’s shoulder, Shiro can vaguely make out Ulaz dabbing at his eyes with a deeply purple hanky. And Hunk is well, Hunk’s been crying since Sam began.

Cosmo trots up to them with the ring basket in their mouth. Shiro and Keith take the rings and Cosmo trots away.

Keith goes first, taking Shiro’s flesh and blood hand in his own and sliding the luxite ring onto his finger. “I love you,” he says, voice steady and simple.

Shiro does the same. “I love you,” he says, so softly, for only Keith to hear.

“Well,” Sam says, laughter in his voice. “I have no idea what you two are waiting for.”

The crowd erupts – deafening Lion roars included – in cheers as they all but slam into each other in a kiss.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> **~ _You are cordially invited to the reception of Keith and Takashi Shirogane; coming soon_ ~**
> 
>  
> 
> yup! this fic isn't finished yet! it can be cut off here, but it doesn't feel right without the reception. so that's coming after s7! i just wasn't able to finish in time OTL


End file.
